


I Won't Say I'm In Love

by Resistance



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resistance/pseuds/Resistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain delay at Martinsville before the Kroger 250 Truck race. March 30, 2104.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tyler

It was raining. Not torrential downpour raining, but enough that everything outside was wet and windshield wipers were needed. Crews were taking bets with each other if we were going to race at all. Doug had my truck set up and ready to go, but I was leaning towards the side of they were going to try to fit us in around the Cup race on Sunday. It was weird enough that our race was on Saturday and I was nervous enough to get my first short track truck race going that I was positive that the NASCAR gods were going to make me wait another day. They like to mess with the new guys.

After walking through the garage to a near chorus of “hey kid”s, I was about ready to look for somewhere to hide where no one would give me that baby-sitting-in-the-driver’s-seat look. I know I’m young, but I’m not _that_ young! I could legally—well, I couldn’t legally do a lot of things, but that hadn’t stopped me before. The looks I was getting wasn’t going to stop me this time, they were just annoying.

I may be a rookie, but I’m not brand new. The nerves from my first race were long gone. Last year, I’d managed to get a lot of first out of the way in one race: My first Truck start, first crash, first trip to infield care and my first horrible finish. But that was last year and this was this year, and I was going to show everyone exactly who I was. It didn’t matter that I was the ‘also ran’ of our team, that Ryan was going to get every bit of the spotlight that wasn’t taken up by Brad himself. I would earn attention my own way. As it happened, I wasn’t the only one thinking that.

As I said before, it was raining which meant the garage was crowded, so I found myself sitting out back on the short wall. The late March weather in Virginia was much colder than home, but something I was pretty used to for as long as I’ve been in North Carolina. The rain felt good, calming and relaxing. I closed my eyes and turned my face up to it, forcing myself to let go of every last worry that was floating around my head. It felt good. I stretched out, balancing along the edge of the short wall, letting the rain wash away whatever worries I had left. Rain was good for that.

“You do know it’s raining, don’t you?”

I don’t want to admit that I jumped, but I was so focused on not thinking about anything that I think I forgot that I was laying on a wall outside a crowded garage, which meant that I was in full view of a lot of people who were probably wondering what drug I was on. I would also like to say that the reason I blushed as hard as I did once I opened my eyes was because he had startled me, but that, too, would be a big huge lie.

“I….” Yes, that was my brilliant reply. I can’t believe I’m admitting this. Don’t tell anyone this story. I’ll come up with a better one someday, but right now I only have the truth.

He laughed and I blushed more and this whole thing was a mess. “You’re in the rain, too.” I finally pointed out, once my brain realized that I had a firm grasp on the English language and could form intelligent sentences. Well, intelligent is stretching it, but I could form sentences at least.

He smiled. Not just a polite smile, not one of those baby-in-the-driver’s-seat kind of smiles that I got way too often, but a real smile that went all the way to his eyes and made them look brighter than brown eyes should look. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Never tell him I said that.

“I came out to see if you were high, actually.” He was barley containing another laugh and that was just about the cruelest look he could have given me. There were a few guys around the track that were my age, or close to it, but none of them had a smile that looked like they knew far too many secrets about me that they were ready and willing to use. My brain started forgetting English again.

“I….” I frowned. This wasn’t me. I didn’t get tongue tied, I had an answer for everything. That was part of the reason Brad and I had gotten along well enough that he wanted to sign me to drive what was really his truck, when he wasn’t using it. At least I thought that was part of the reason, he didn’t really tell me much. Actually, I got more feedback on what Brad thought of me from Joey, but that’s a story for another time. A story that might include who reallywears the firesuit in _that_ family.

 “Are you always this articulate?” He was smirking. I didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smirking, I could hear it in his voice. I had looked away from him after the first smile. Now something in the back of my head told me not to look at him just for that reason, but it was arguing with something in the front of my head, or a little further south than my head, that wanted me to look at him right away. Guess which voice won.

When I turned my head towards him, I was eye-level with exactly what I didn’t need to be looking at in that moment. I’m sure I blushed six or seven shades of red as I sat up a little too quickly, “Did you just quote a Disney movie at me?” I narrowed my eyes at him. It was easier not to look right at him since the rain was getting into my eyes, which was a fine excuse not to look up at his smirk.

“The fact that you _knew_ it was a Disney movie quote means you can’t look down on me for using it.” Even his voice was smirking as he said that. I hated that he was making a perfectly logical point that I couldn’t argue. Lucky, or unlucky, for me, he knew it too. He sat on the short wall next to me and offered his hand, “I’m John.”

Now, before I explain further, I need you to promise that you won’t mock me for what I’m about to say. Nothing that happened after that was my fault. It wasn’t his fault either. It just was what happened. So no mocking. At all.

I turned towards him and took his hand and I swear an electric shock went through my whole body, like I’d just grabbed a live wire. A thousand corny song lyrics rushed through my head, something about staring into the sun, something like a bolt out of the blue, too many cheesy things that I would never say out loud but that I suddenly understood completely. I could tell by the look on his face that he was expecting me to speak, but I didn’t want to say any of the things in my head and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“And _you_ are?” He prompted.

Oh, right. He gave his name and now it was my turn to give mine. I will never admit to him that it took me a couple seconds to remember what my name was. That wasn’t my fault, I had just been electrocuted. “Tyler. I’m Tyler. Nice to meet you.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Really? Couldn’t tell.”

I was starting to get annoyed by the fact that he was so comfortable and here I was dealing with his stupid smirk and his stupid laugh and his stupid Disney movies and his stupid electric handshake. It wasn’t right that I was the only one that was awkward and uncomfortable. He looked younger than me, he should be the one that’s mumbling and stuttering and blushing, not me! This wasn’t fair at all.

And then I realized that he wasn’t looking at my face anymore, he’d glanced down and I was--- and believe me when I tell you, he has _never_ let me live that down. And he never will, I know it. I tried to explain to him that it was the natural extension of being electrocuted but his ego tells him something completely different. And an argument between logical reasons and that goddamn Nemechek ego, logic never wins. And no, I will never admit that in this one particular case, he was right.

I let go of his hand and tried to casually drop both of mine into my lap, but it was much too late for that. I made the mistake of looking back up at his face. I was blushing and he wasn’t. But he was smiling. Not smirking, smiling. And here’s the part you can’t mock me about. He looked absolutely beautiful. Like breathtaking in a way I wasn’t expecting at all. Maybe it was the rain or the look in his eyes or my own embarrassment clouding things, but he was stunning and I was in trouble.


	2. John

Tyler was right about one thing, it was raining that day. Other than that, his story took a sharp left into lala land. But then again, his stories usually do. Tyler goes for the drama, I like the facts. Let me tell you exactly what happened that day we met. And for the record, no one was electrocuted.

My whole life up until that point had been in preparation to drive the number 8 truck. I understand that most kids, when they’re planning their NASCAR career, see Trucks as a stop along the way, but not me. I knew I’d drive it at Homestead someday and the circle would be complete. That wasn’t going to happen this this season though; it was just about me driving that truck. I’d driven the 22 before, but that wasn’t the same. That wasn’t the 8, that wasn’t my uncle’s truck.

I was named for my uncle, my father’s brother, who died from injuries that he sustained in a crash at Homestead in the 8 truck the year I was born. He died in March, I was born in June. I’ve often wondered what my parents would have named me had he survived. But he didn’t, and so John Hunter Nemechek (the second) was born. My uncle went by John, so my dad has always called me John Hunter, almost like it’s one name. I hate it, but I deal with it. My dad has always told me I’d finish that race for my uncle someday. I hate that too, but I deal with it. And someday I’ll do it. For my dad.

I had been thinking about that Martinsville race for months. I knew that my dad would start the season in the truck, he told me he wanted to race Daytona and I had no standing to disagree with that. Along with some Super Series and some K&N, I was going to get ten Truck races. Whatever ten he didn’t want to do, and I was going to be grateful for them. Not that I wasn’t grateful, but I wanted more. I wanted the good ones, but of course Dad was going to take those. My time would come, he told me. I couldn’t tell him that my time was already here.

It was hard to prove that I’m as good as I say I am when my finishes don’t show it and I would be the last to complain about what I’m driving, except when what I’m driving is crap and the fault for my finishes doesn’t lie with me. Couple years back, when I had a good car, I won all but three of the races in the series. That’s what I can do, not this, if I just had the time behind the wheel of a good machine. But I digress. I’m supposed to be talking about Martinsville.

So I had been thinking about this race for a while because I would finally be behind the wheel of the number 8 truck. And it started to rain. And I couldn’t believe my luck. I wanted nothing more than this race and it was raining. I couldn’t sit still in the garage, so I just wandered around, like I used to do when I was little and Dad was in what seemed like endless meetings and strategy sessions. That’s when I spotted the nutcase laying on the short wall out in the rain.

Most of the time when you see someone in the rain by choice, you ignore them, because you’re fairly sure they’re on some sort of mind-altering substance. And I didn’t rule that out this time, but my curiosity and my boredom were such that I went outside to investigate this nutcase, which turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made.

I stood there and watched him for a minute. I will not compare him to a cross-gender version of Sleeping Beauty, despite the fact I could. I was simply standing in the rain looking at a very attractive nutcase that was sleeping balanced on the short wall. As it was, the rain wasn’t so bad that I didn’t think I’d dry off the moment I went back inside, so I waited for him to acknowledge me. But he didn’t. His eyes were closed and I wondered if he had in fact fallen asleep or had passed out.

“You do know it’s raining, don’t you?” I asked. I was half tempted to poke the guy with a stick to see what he’d do, but he startled at the question so I knew he was alive and conscious.

If you ask Tyler what color his eyes are, he’ll tell you they’re blue. He lies. I know he lies because I will never forget that first time when he opened his eyes and looked at me. My first thought was that his eyes were in black and white while the rest of him was in color. He has gray eyes. Like storm cloud gray. Don’t let him tell you they’re blue.

So he’s looking at me with his black and white eyes like he’s never seen another human being before. He stammered something and then he started blushing and looking anywhere but at me. I hadn’t taken my eyes off him. And can you blame me? Have you _seen_ him? Now picture him soaking wet and blushing. You wouldn’t look away from him either. Somewhat self-conscious of how much I was staring at him, I laughed a little.

He pointed out that I was standing in the rain too, as if that compared to the fact that he had been lying out on the wall in the rain like he was trying to get a suntan. But the attempt made me smile. Truthfully, his blush made me smile too. He looked so flustered and it really complimented him, which is an odd thing to say I suppose. I couldn’t help the smile, his deer-in-the-headlights look was, dare I say it, cute. And cute worked for him. Really well.

“I came out to see if you were high, actually.” I told him, which wasn’t too far from the truth. I had come out into the rain because I couldn’t sit still in the garage and because there was a person lying on the wall in the rain. Tyler will tell you it was fate that brought me outside to check on him. I don’t know if I believe in that kind of thing, but the truth was I didn’t make a habit of walking in the rain before that.

He mumbled something else and I just couldn’t help the sarcasm that came out, “Are you always this articulate?” If he didn’t know it was from an animated movie, then it sounded like a good line. And if he did know it came from an animated movie, then he had watched it as many times as I had and I wasn’t guilty of liking kid things alone. Either way, it felt like a smooth line to use in that moment, which gives you a good idea of what Tyler’s black and white eyes do to my judgment calls.

Of course he called me out on it being from a Disney movie and I called him out on knowing that it was from a Disney movie and I knew at that moment we’d be friends. I sat down beside him, “I’m John.” Just John, no Hunter. He was going to be _my_ friend, not someone I met through my Dad, and I could tell him to call me what I wanted to be called. I liked the feeling it brought, the sense of self and independence. I didn’t know at the time how important that was going to be, I just liked that I could choose what I was called by at least one person.

I offered my hand to him and Tyler stared at it like he had never seen a hand before. He didn’t offer his name, he didn’t shake my hand, he just stared for about five full seconds. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but when you make your living by tenths of seconds, five seconds is a very long time. But as I waited, I watched his brain kick into gear and he grabbed my hand to shake it.

Here’s were Tyler tells that he was electrocuted by that contact. To say he is dramatic and a romantic doesn’t explain the fact that he really thinks he was electrocuted by that handshake. I was there and I don’t remember any live wires or lightning. I will grant that holding his hand in mine did accelerate my heart rate and my breath, but I didn’t short circuit like he says he did. The fact that I had to ask him for his name does support his version of the story, though.

“Tyler. I’m Tyler. Nice to meet you.” He stammered.

At the time this happened, I was sixteen (and a half, yes, I could legally drive). And as a normal healthy sixteen year old boy with a keen interest in other boys, my eyes travelled the length of his body as he was trying to remember his name. This doesn’t make me perverted or a ‘horndog’ or any of the other things Tyler has accused me of being when I bring up the fact that the simple act of shaking my hand had made him hard as a rock. It certainly wasn’t my fault that he was wearing a pair of pants that showed this feature off more than clearly. My only fault is that I feel the need to bring it up as often as possible. Because that’s hilarious.

He dropped his hands into his lap to attempt to cover it, but it was much too late. I suppose I should have wanted to laugh in that moment, but that wasn’t the feeling that came over me. I was flattered. And more than that, I actually felt a little shy at the idea of it. I smiled at him. He smiled back at me. And if you’ll forgive me sounding a little more like Tyler than I would like to, there were birds chirping and bells ringing somewhere, because in that second I understood why. Why I had come out there, why my handshake turned him on, why we were both sitting in the rain for no good reason.

I leaned in closer and kissed him.  


End file.
